- June 21, 2010 Posted by Candace 09:48am
- High School Reunion: The Wrap-Up
There were double the number of guests at the reunion than were expected. We arrived as the people we had become, but trailing us, like shadows in the afternoon sun, were the people we once were.
This particular reunion was billed as a 60th birthday party for the members of the Thomas Jefferson High School Class of ’68 but opened to members of the surrounding classes as well. I went with my sister, Roberta Pilk MacDonald and her classmate, Anne Miller Wotring. Their high school friendship was rekindled at an earlier reunion and years later has morphed into a working relationship.
We looked a little like stalkers as we took pics in front of the former Pilk Family palace.
Anne Miller Wotring and Roberta Pilk MacDonald bask in the shadow of the former Miller manse. Law enforcement was about to be called.
Taking a circuitous route to the party, a stroll down memory lane, we made stops at old haunts and photo opportunities at the houses we once made a habit of sneaking out of. Tales of bad dates and madcap hijinks were told; names were named, ancient gossip resurrected.
Giddy on remembrance of things past.
Some things don’t change. There was a crowd in the parking lot, exchanging greetings and beginning the process of reconnecting, but it also looked like some of us were stalling a bit before going in, reminding me that 16 or 60, pre-party jitters do not recognize age or maturity.
“Candee, is that you?”
Girding my loins and sticking a name tag the bodice of a dress I had spent hours choosing, I entered the fray. (An aside: I wonder why women put up with having to wear name tags in a place that gives men a socially acceptable pass to check out the goods. At length.) Upon entering, I was stopped dead in my tracks by a voice that called out “Candee!”
I haven’t been called Candee in almost 40 years. I put an end to the nickname bestowed upon me at birth on the day I arrived at college. I knew then that such a name, winsome and perfectly suited for a tiny girl with big eyes, would sound faintly ridiculous and rob me of a certain amount of gravitas as a grown woman. Candee Pilk is a name that works for a stripper or a 1-900 companionship provider. For a CEO or a Board Chair? Not so much. Candee was therefore relegated to the past as Candace went about the business of becoming an adult. But here in a suburban church hall those two short syllables sent me spiraling back almost 40 years. Feeling like a time traveler, I found myself in a room where everyone only ever knew me by my childhood name. For one night, Candee was reborn, leaving me feeling displaced from my own skin.
Wait, wait, don’t tell me…
One thing I can confidently say about reunions, unhappy and unsuccessful people are not likely to show up. They attract a self-selecting group that skews to folks who are reasonably secure, extroverted, and generally satisfied with life. This group was no exception. In spite of the fact that people were talking about adult children, new grandchildren, retirement plans, and AARP membership, there was a decidedly youthful vibe in the air, which fairly crackled with energy and enthusiasm.
Now…
…and then.
As the evening dropped into gear, a kick-ass rock and roll band, comprised of former classmates relieved us of the burden and embarrassment of not remembering names and faces by playing at top volume. Dancing, the universal language of joy, took over where speech fell short. And like most high school parties, then and now, there was a noticeable gender divide. The women gathered together on one side, unselfconsciously dancing, laughing and singing along with the perfectly executed soundtrack of our youth. Across the room the men made desultory attempts at small talk, smiling indulgently at wives, partners, and old friends.
Louie Louie, oh no, me gotta go, aye-yi-yi-yi
In true social hall fashion, there were party snacks and cake. The (now-legal) adult beverages were strictly BYOB. And believe me, now as then, there appeared to be no shortage of that second “B.” Chatting, catching up, drinking, dancing, and eating. It was just like a wedding or a bar mitzvah except everyone at this party was the same age. I wondered why I had gotten so wound up about the prospect of this evening.
At some point, as if by telepathy, our trio agreed that it was time to go. Leaving on a high note as the party was in full swing left us with memories of friends and days gone by refreshed, but not overworked. We left before we lost the magic that originally bound us to these people and that had once again brought us together.
The reunion ultimately became journey of self-discovery and, in a way, of redemption. In the intervening decades my time in high school had coalesced as an indistinct, but somehow naggingly unhappy, memory. Spending a few hours with some engaging, congenial strangers made me realize that we passed those distant years in individual, self-generated bubbles. In that isolation we created the amorphous facades that would eventually harden and set as we became actual people. We were children with crude tools and limited social skills playing at being adults. To varying degrees we were all clumsy and awkward, trying our best but rarely getting it right. Our bubbles orbited the school, sometimes touching gently and other times colliding with a damaging intensity. High school was real life with training wheels, allowing us to make mistakes whose consequences were instructional in nature and rarely life-threatening.
In the end, the reunion allowed me to let go of the confusion and hurt, salvage the lessons learned and cherish the handful of very real relationships that have withstood time and distance. More important was my ability to appreciate how fortune has blessed me in the form of my sister. A paragon of popularity and beauty in high school, she has evolved into a complex, compassionate, compelling person who is my friend and my mentor. How lucky that we could make this journey together. And really, is there anyone in the world better than a sister to share post-reunion dish with?
I don’t think so.
I loved reading this; what an adventure and yes, you are very lucky to have a sister to share it with. And I promise never to call you Candee.
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This made me smile, Candee
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I can’t decide what was funnier, the time we had had post party or the security key I had to enter in order to post this comment…spillage media…LOL!
I’m amused by the amount of facial hair on the guys, both here and in the photos I’ve been sent. I shaved off a mustache I’d had for 40 years because it was graying badly, yet my compatriots are happily gray-bearded.
Hi Candace,
I enjoyed seeing you, and dancing with you and your sister. (You caught me in one of your pictures above.)
I relate to your “prequel” alot. And yes, somehow those high school years, difficult and rocky, were I think very similarly endured by all of us. I counted the days before I got my freedom! And while you were toking in high school, those experiences were mine in College, and, well, er, after that too.
I wonder why I enjoyed the reunion and then the 60th b-day celebration. There is some sort of a shared sense of life with these now almost-strangers that is incomprehensible to me. But there it is, a thing of beauty and marvel.
You guys are still c-o-o-l!!
I confess I waited to answer questions about how the reunion/birthday party went…now I KNOW I had a good time. Actually I toast you, for annotating and precisely capturing what went on….you are so loved and applauded. PS my spam letters – and I swear to go this is true – “and Mark” The universe is so enjoyable…
Great photo of my big sis and Bobbe in front of our old house!
Allen Miller, TJHS Class of 1972
Such a heartfelt story and so well written. You are both very brave – as that’s what it sometimes takes – to attend. There is safety in numbers!
LOVE, LOVE, LOVE the pre and post stories. I could have read on forever. Candace, you are a fabulous writer, I had goose bumps as I read. The pictures are priceless.
I enjoyed reading every word, what a great journey and so incredibly well written – I applaud you. My sister is my best friend and mentor too in many ways, How truly fortunate we are to not only have them in our lives but to recognize that we have been given this amazingly wonderful gift, in the form of a sister!
I sit here after reading your blog, Candace, with tear blinded eyes. My sister passed away suddenly several years ago and she, like Bobbe, was my friend and the keeper of all the past memories and if she had come with me, would have remembered every person’s name and would have told me things I never knew about my own classmates, had she attended—she was just that way. She was a year ahead of us at Jefferson and would have LOVED to be with me at the 60th. I thought of her as we laughed and danced all night. Hang on tight Bobbe and Candace; I’d give anything to share one more time with Lauren.
More than once I’ve counseled a teen who hated high school. I start by asking them if people tell them these are the best years of their lives. I watch them roll their eyes and then I exclaim “They lie! These are the worst years of your life and I promise you it is all uphill from here!” Many years later one young adult confided that my words kept her from committing suicide. After all if this was as good as it was going to get, then there was no reason to live. However if this was the worst, she could hang on and get through it. She did and she is now a very happy, successful, and compassionate person.